The Incorruptible, Corrupted {l'incorruptible, Corrompu}

~4~

Without realizing that he had been unconscious again, Maximilien woke to a sharp pain in his jaw. This is an awful constant, he thought wearily. Of all of the idiotic things I've done, this has to be one of the worst, if not the worst. I can't wait to be rid of it. Oh wait, he thought bitterly. I can. If it's gone, I'm dead. He sighed heavily, then winced in pain. 

Gone were the days when he was called "the Incorruptible." Gone was the time when he and Camille Desmoulins had laughed at a classmate's terrible test score. Gone was the time when the worst thing he had ever done was swear with Jacques, his oldest friend. A friend who, like many of his others, had died for so-called good of the French people.

"De R-Robespierre," Camille had whispered, his ever-present stutter still noticeable. Maximilien had frowned slightly at the interruption. If the two were caught whispering during a lecture they'd be done for. Monsieur Antoine was in an absolutely dreadful mood today. "M-maxime," He whispered a little louder. "What did you g-get on the test?"

"I got everything correct," he'd said quietly. "Now would you be so kind as to shut up? If we get caught there'll be h*ll to pay." Camille had sighed and turned away from his friend and faced the front once again. Maximilien had redirected his attention back to the lesson.

"Maximilien," Camille had said again, some moments later. "I h-have something f-funny to t-tell you." Maximilien had scowled. It was unusual for Camille, who was normally an incredibly attentive student, to be trying to tell him something in class.

"What," he had muttered sharply under his breath. Camille grinned victoriously. He always did love winning against Maximilien, even if it was over something as trivial as this.

"Did you h-hear what score Alexandre got on t-the test?" Maximilien had shaken his head slightly.  What is Camille getting at, he asked himself. "Take a g-guess. Take a w-wild guess Maxime." Alexandre Charpentier was an exceptional student, at times even rivaling Maximilien himself. No doubt he had gotten every question correct. Camille simply wanted to tease him again.

"Let me guess," he muttered, careful not to let Monsieur Antoine, who was scanning the room, see that he was speaking. "He also got everything correct." Camille's grin had widened. 

"Non! Not even close," he'd whispered gleefully. "He d-d-didn't even get ANY of them right!"  Maximilien had stared at Camille. There was no way, he'd thought to himself. Absolutely none.

"Class is dismissed for the day," Monsieur Antoine had said, snapping the boys back to attention. "Do not forget to turn in your essays on the way out." Maximilien had turned his attention to his bag for a few seconds, fishing out the essay in question. 

"C-can you believe it Maxime," Camille had asked gleefully as they left the classroom. "He failed it!" Maximilien had laughed and smiled along with his friend.

"It is rather hard to believe isn't it," he'd said wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulders. "At first I thought you were just trying to mock me again." Camille had turned to him, attempting to keep a hurt expression on his face.

"H-how rude of you! You h-hold me in such low standards! Me, mock you? I'd never," he'd said unable to keep himself from laughing. Maximilien frowned slightly. "Oh, Max! W-what would I do without you?"

"Probably end up dead on the road because you were reading instead of watching where you're going."

"Probably. Good thing I keep you around." 

No Camille, Maximilien thought. It's not a good thing you kept me around. I'm a terrible person. Don't associate yourself with me anymore. A new, harsher voice entered his mind. We killed them, remember, Maximilien thought to himself. Camille was executed, Danton was executed, and if I remember correctly, we executed Charpentier at some point as well. They're all dead. All it seemed he could do anymore was kill people that he had loved. All of my friends are dead, Maximilien thought. All of them except for Saint-Just, and he's as good as dead. It's only a matter of time now. Saint-Just was so young. Too young to die. But somehow he, with his extraordinary revolutionary fervor, had managed to send himself to an early grave. And he'd been so good at it. He'd been a perfect example of what the other revolutionaries should have been.

The sound of footsteps outside in the corridor halted Maximilien's thoughts. Fighting through the pain, Maximilien snapped his head up. No, he thought hastily. No! It can't be time yet! It can't! There's so much left for the revolution! There are so many things I can do for France! His pulse accelerated, and he felt his hands start to shake. The footsteps grew nearer and nearer, but to Maximilien's surprise, they didn't stop outside of his cell. He was still safe, his head still attached to his body. For now, he reminded himself. My head is attached for now.